For Jessie's Sake

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“We have confidence in you, kid,” Albert Canter said in his gruff voice. Al was a blacksmith and seventy-five if he was a day. For any tourist who asked, he demonstrated his craft as gleefully as he displayed and sold his handcrafted iron work. Al just loved the town he’d retired to. He still considered himself retired even though he probably worked sixty-hour weeks during tourist season. Which had pretty much become year-round for the town.

After she took her seat, a steady stream of interested citizens entered the hall. Abby wished some of the other business owners would stand up to Harley, but she’d come to understand that going against him was uncomfortable for them. Some had spouses or children who worked for Harley at Bryant Savings and Loan. Others were friendly with Shirley Bryant—the shy, lovely woman he’d won over to the shock of nearly everyone in town. Still others had known his parents. Hopetown remained a small town, despite the large tourist trade.

Before long, Harley sauntered toward the podium and tapped on the microphone. “Can I have your attention?”

Just then the doors at the back of the hall opened and drew all eyes, Abby’s included. Colin McCarthy walked boldly up to the front row on the left side of the small hall. He turned toward Abby and grinned before sitting down. He certainly seemed to be jumping into life in Hopetown quickly, she thought cynically.

Abby straightened her shoulders, refusing to let him see that his mere presence set her on edge. Then Harley began speaking. “I’m sure you’re all wondering why I tabled the grant discussion tonight. First off, we have six months after our little water problem along Main to deal with that application. Second, I don’t have figures from everyone, so if that includes you, get them to my office. And third, I have something more exciting to talk about tonight. I’d like to introduce my old friend, Colin McCarthy. Colin, come on up and get reacquainted with everyone.”

Colin stood and loped confidently up to the podium as Bryant continued, “Colin has returned to Hopetown as quite a success story. An award-winning architect and successful builder on the Left Coast, he’s come back here to live and to make Hopetown part of his next venture. I’m asking the zoning board for rezoning and an acreage variance on the land Colin owns so we can expedite matters and get the ball moving on his project. This will be a real shot in the arm for the town’s coffers. Colin, suppose you give us a brief explanation of your plans.”

“Thanks, Harley,” Colin said, looking unruffled and self-assured as he stepped to the microphone in spite of grumbling from some in the audience. “I’ve returned to develop the land that was the site of my family’s farm for generations.”

Abby couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Develop upstream from the town? Was Colin off his rocker? Was Harley?

“Torthúil Gardens will be a townhouse and condo community with a large segment along the river dedicated to over fifty-five adult living surrounded by condo-association-owned land,” Colin went on. “In this way we limit population increases of school-age children and the burden of increasing property taxes to fund new schools. I’m also considering a clubhouse, pool and exercise center that any resident of Hopetown can use with the purchase of an annual membership.”

The grumbling grew louder as Colin put up his hand, quieting everyone. “This is all in the proposal stages. I should be ready with detailed drawings and plans within a few weeks.”

Then Harley spoke. “I’m proud to have secured the financing Colin needs for this project. The tax revenue alone will do more for Hopetown than any federal grant.”

Abby popped up out of her seat. “And if you develop Torthúil the way it sounds like you plan to, you’ll need even bigger federal grants to clean up the mess the additional run-off will cause the town.” Shouts of agreement came from pockets around the room.

“Harley, how can you even consider this after all the flooding?” she demanded. “Oh, wait,” she continued, narrowing her eyes as she stared Bryant down. “Since you secured the financing, your bank’ll make a bundle on this, won’t it? But what’s the tax base going to look like if there’s no town left, Harley?”

She turned toward the zoning board. Her family had tangled with most of them before. “I beg all of you to remember that this town is about more than tax revenue. It’s our duty as Hopetown citizens to guard our historical landmarks. I urge the committee to table this discussion for tonight and consider carefully any plans submitted.

“And I’d like to remind you all how hard Harley Bryant fought behind the scenes to keep my family from expanding our operation.” She knew he’d wanted them to fail so his bank would be free to foreclose and gain control of the winery. Unfortunately she had no proof. “I’d also like to remind you that because we sit so high, we have hundreds more feet of drainage under our complex than Torthúil. Plus, a very large percentage of the plateau where our facility sits was always planned as farmland and a nature preserve. The perk tests you all reviewed proved our use of the land has zero impact on the river.”

Abby finally took a chance and looked up at Colin. His jaw was rock hard, his eyes cold as he stared down at her. She glanced away and over to where the zoning board sat.

After a few moments’ deliberation, they approved only the proposed work on Colin’s farmhouse, tabling further discussion until the August meeting when his plans were called on to be ready for consideration. Colin had lost this round. And would lose the next, and the next, and the next if she had anything to say about it.

She’d fight the devil himself to save the town named for and founded by her ancestor Josiah Hopewell. Hopetown had been on the banks of the Delaware River since 1689, and no money-grubbing builder was going to help wipe it off the map.

Hopetown had been hit by three major floods in the past eighteen months, the runoff that endangered many homes and roads was caused by too much development in the entire watershed region. Colin’s plans would only increase the runoff just upstream, dangerously close to town.

The Hopewell name still meant something around there and she’d use every bit of influence it gave her. She’d beat Colin McCarthy and see his dreams crushed.

Just the way he’d crushed hers.

Chapter Five

Colin stood in the shadow of one of the big oaks that shaded the oldest section of Main Street, waiting for Abby to leave the meeting. He’d spent the past ten minutes trying once again to control his temper, which seemed to flare where she was concerned.

Earlier in the evening, when he’d run into her on the porch, he’d purposely brought up Tracy to see her reaction. Juliana Hopewell was right. Abby still deeply mourned his little sister.

Knowing that, he had to try to understand the past, so he’d called his mother. She’d confessed that his father had ordered Tracy to end her friendship with Abby. He’d told Tracy only that James Hopewell had threatened to ruin them financially if Abby had any contact with the McCarthys. He hadn’t told Tracy the whole truth because they’d decided that in the short term they wouldn’t tell any of the younger children what had happened. It had seemed unnecessary to risk upsetting them about the threat to their parents’ livelihood.

Now, though, Colin needed to understand what had happened. Now he knew why Tracy and Abby had ended their friendship. Abby hadn’t had a thing to do with Tracy’s death. Which left him with no reason to be angry—and a boatload of leftover hunger for her that he could do nothing about.

Because, in spite of any attraction she still felt for him, she had every reason to think he’d used her that night. And for some reason she seemed to hold him responsible for what had happened to Tracy, which made no sense at all. It had been Abby, young and upset though she had been, who’d caved in to her father’s demands and given away their secret.

Now she’d tried to torpedo his project, causing his anger to blaze anew. Once again the great and glorious Hopewell name alone was more important within the town than anything or anyone else.

Harley had made it plain that they needed this development to widen the town’s tax base. And the McCarthy family needed it too. Torthúil had begun failing about a year before Tracy’s death and that expense had nearly put them over the edge. It had been Liam McCarthy’s dream to preserve the farm for future generations—to sell Torthúil would have broken his father’s already wounded heart. But his daughter’s death had left him a nearly broken man. They’d sold off all the expensive farm machinery to pay off the banknote and moved to Florida to improve their health—and forget the past.